Harry Potter and the Rings of Power
by ericwinter
Summary: Three for the Oathbound in the labyrinth of lies. Seven for the Soldiers in a hall built on dreams. Nine for the Order as their war draws nigh. And one for the Bright Lord in a land of fallen kings. One Ring to serve them all, one Ring to guide them, One Ring to lead them all, and through the Shadows Light them. Disclaimer: I own nothing.
1. Chapter 1

**Sooo… I just spent the last day and a half writing this. I am very, very, dead. As such, this will be a very short AN, especially since trying to describe this story even while functional would be difficult. So if you have any, and I do mean** _ **any**_ **questions, either Review or PM me and I will do my best to answer. Until then, enjoy, and try to forgive any rickety writing you come across. As I said, fifteen thousand words in two days. I'm sorry.**

XXX

Harry was five when he first dreamt of the Rings. He lay drowsing in his cupboard, body wracked with pain from one of Dudley's Harry Hunting game, and then… they were there. Surrounding him in the darkness, three, and seven, and nine, the stars of light, warmth, and hope burned in his mind, and one other, hidden in shadows even as it whispered in his ear. When the boy woke, fully healed, and the Rings had disappeared back into his dreams, he remembered.

Harry was eight when he first set hammer to anvil, even then marveling at the ethereal tools he had summoned. He had been wandering, thinking of nothing and everything as only children can do, when the eight-year-old found an old, abandoned dump. Curious, he pushed past the rusted gate, wincing slightly as it screeched open, and entered. He drifted through the piles, idly eyeing each of the trinkets and treasures-to his eye, at least- that were buried within. It was only as he reached the other edge, about to leave the place behind, that something caught his eye. An old tool, covered in rust and dirt, stuck out of the very last pile handle-first, like a planted flag. Something tugged at Harry, an ancient instinct buried deep in his heart, and he stepped over, looking down at the object. Carefully, unsure why he was doing so, the boy reached out and wrapped his hand around the hilt, pulling it out.

At first, Harry was disappointed. It was nothing much, just a rusty hammer, and as Harry looked down at it he felt his disgust growing. What on earth was he doing? Just as he was about to throw the hammer back into the pile, however, he felt… _something._ A rush of energy, of _power,_ tore through Harry and flooded down his arm to fill the hammer. He watched in shock and awe as the toll glowed with a blinding white light, until it stopped and the hammer that rested in his palm no longer resembled its former self. Where before it had been rusty and covered with dirt, Harry now held a tool of great beauty and majesty. It appeared silver, though Harry somehow knew that the material was something different entirely, and it glowed with an ethereal internal light. One side of the head was flat, as expected of a hammer, but the other curved into a wicked tip that had him gulping at its Harry held the hammer in his hand, he felt a terrible sense of rightness, like coming home after a long, long vacation. He had never felt anything likie it.

Harry looked around, something tugging at his senses, and a moment later his eyes settled on a stone block. If he could make a hammer magical, he wondered, could he also make an anvil. The boy stepped over and rubbed a hand lightly over the block's surface, hoping it would work. A moment later, he smiled as that same surge of power from before went through him, and Harry was left staring at an anvil forged of the same material as his hammer. As a sense of glee filled his veins, Harry grinned wildly, before looking around again. He needed something, anything, to forge. After a few seconds, his eyes settled upon a small pile of scrap metal. He rushed over, picking some up, before returning it to the anvil. He shifted his grip on the hammer and, without any further thought, swung.

The blast of power and light that surged from where hammer and anvil struck threw Harry backwards like an explosion, and he grunted as he was thrown into a pile of scrap. For several long seconds the child lay there, disoriented. Finally, however, he managed to gather enough wits to crawl out, groaning every step of the way. He stood, shaking off a few bits and pieces that had clung to his small form, before making his way over to the anvil. He stood a few cautious steps back at first, wary of being thrown again. But when no blast seemed to be forthcoming, he stepped closer, curiosity burning into him.

As Harry looked at the fruit of his foolishness, he found himself astounded. Gone was the pile of scrap metal, replaced by what appeared to be a tiny shard of the same material that made his hammer and anvil. Tentatively, Harry reached out and scooped it up into his hand. It was, surprisingly, warm in his hand, and he could feel the gentle stirrings of power rising from it. Unbidden, a memory came to him, of the nineteen stars burning in darkness and their shadowy brother. And Harry knew what he held. It was a shard, the very beginning of a Ring of Power. He had rarely thought of them, except in his darkest and most lonely moments.

When Harry returned to Privet Drive that night, he had hidden in his pockets an old rusty hammer, a small chip of stone, and a shard of warm metal. Useless though the three items seemed, Harry knew better. And as he apologised to Aunt Petunia for being so late, and dirty as well, he couldn't stop the warmth of hope and light rising within him.

XXX

Harry sighed heavily, exhaustion mingling with relief as he leaned back against the wall. It had been nigh on three years since he first found that dump and learned of his power. Ever since that day, he had worked to finish what he started. He had spent hours of every day, whatever free time he could find or make, pouring his strength into forging. It was an arduous process, some confusing mix of instinct and trial and error, but finally he had something to show for it. Or, Harry mused as he looked down at the bands of metal, three things.

Harry smiled weakly at the Three, sitting innocently on the dusty shelf in his cupboard. Even tired as the boy was after spending the entire night finishing this last bit, he could not deny their beauty. Two gold and one mithril, as he had taken to calling the silvery material that made his tools, and set with three stone of breath-taking beauty, an emerald, diamond, and ruby. Even sitting there, surrounded in the squalor of his cupboard, Harry could feel their power and majesty.

"Up. Get up! Now!" Harry was drawn from his admiration of the rings to look at his door and the direction Aunt Petunia's shrill voice was coming from. He sighed, picking himself up from the floor as he answered.

"Coming." At his call, he heard a shuffling of feet, as if the woman was surprised to hear his answer so soon, before finally she seemed to leave. Harry sighed, casting a look back towards the rings. With only a moment's hesitation he reached over and picked one up, rolling it in his fingers. It was one of the gold ones, with a gleaming ruby that burned like a red star in its setting. He wondered, for a moment, if he should put it on. The next second he shook the foolish thought aside. Why else forge them, than to be worn? Not by him, perhaps, or at least not always, but for now Harry was the only one to bear the Three. He certainly wouldn't give them to the Dursley's.

With a sense of finality, Harry slid the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly, seeming to pulse like a beating heart, and instantaneously he was filled with a burning fire that blazed through his veins. It warmed every inch of Harry's body and soul, and he sighed as confidence filled him. _Narya, the Ring of Fire._ Smiling as the ring curled around his finger, Harry stepped out of the cupboard and walked into the kitchen In an instant his aunt was on him, shooing the ten-year-old boy towards the stove.

"Go, i want you to look after the bacon, and don't dare let it burn. Everything has to be perfect for Duddy's birthday." In an instant, Harry's smile died, but he didn't say anything as he sstepped over to do as he was told. He didn't care much for the way the Dursley's treated him, but there was little he could do about it. Even if the boy left, where would he go? Not even his relatives wanted him, so what hope might Harry have elsewhere? Even as the thought crossed his mind, Harry felt Narya curl around his ring comfortingly. _Right._ He was strong, and and now he had the Rings to help him. The Dursley's couldn't do anything _too_ bad to him.

Breakfast was an amusing affair, as he watched Dudley complain about his number of presents. The poor fat boy wouldn't even _use_ most of them, so Harry found great pleasure in knowing that Vernon and Petunia's money would go to waste. It was only when Dudley seemed about to break down that he felt a moment of wariness. Dudley tantrums usually ended with something broken, which he would inevitably have to clean up. But, by some miracle, it passed, and he was left to finish his meager breakfast in relative peace. Even more surprising, however, was when the news that Mrs. Figg, the odd neighbor with an absurd amount of cats who usually watched him on Dudley's birthdays, had broken her leg, and somehow Harry found himself following along several hours later as the Dursley's explored the zoo and did their best to ignore his presence.

it was odd, Harry thought as he rubbed Narya with a finger. Usually he would be bothered by the casual dismissal of the Dursley's even in public, as if he were nothing more than a particularly mangy mutt that insisted on hanging around the house. But now, with the Ring of Fire on his finger, he found he couldn't care less. In seven short years, he would be able to leave and never look back. Until that day, all he had to do was smile, nod, and keep his head down. Not a problem, really, since he had perfected the art of staying unnoticed before he even discovered his hammer and anvil.

As he walked, Harry marveled at the sensations coursing through him. Narya had done more than simply give him hope and a new outlook on life. He could feel its power burning through him, sharpening every sense he had. Already Harry could see farther than he ever had, and most likely even more than most mortals. He could easily pick out individual strains of conversation in the bustling crowd with a thought, and the smells of so many people and animals in one place had practically sent him reeling for the first few minutes. The ring's power went beyond the physical as well, as the crowd parted before him with ease. There was more, he could feel, just beneath the surface, but he didn't reach for them. They weren't for casual use, he sensed.

For a while, Harry thought the trip might be uneventful. He even found himself having fun as he explored the zoo in the Dursley's wake and looked at different animals. He could almost forget the hatred of the Dursley's and pretend he was just a normal boy out for a trip to the zoo. But, as he should have expected, it wasn't to last.

It happened at the reptile house. Dudley and his father had been trying to get the snakes attention as it lay basking in the sun, apparently asleep, before losing interest. Harry, always interested in that which annoyed Dudley, took their place, leaning on the railing next to the glass. He wondered, for a moment, if it had died of boredom. He imagined he might, stuck in a small box with nothing to do all day. Even in the Cupboard he had his forging, and when that failed or he became too exhausted, a number of books pilfered from the school library. Before he could think further on it, however, the Boa moved, raising its head to look at him interestedly. He cocked an eyebrow at the change, before raising the other when the snake _winked._ Then, he smiled wryly, after listening to ensure nobody was nearby.

"Annoying, aren't they?" He asked, gesturing at the Dursley's backs where they had run off to another exhibit. The snake nodded vigorously in answer. "I have to deal with them all the time. Buggering lot, them." Again, the snake nodded, seeming to give him a reptilian smile. For a short moment, Harry wondered if it was Narya that seemed to be giving him the ability to talk to a snake, but after a short glance at the golden ring, he shook that theory away. No, this was something different, an ability unique to _him,_ like the hammer and anvil. Besides, what would the Ring of Fire have to do with snakes?

Without warning, Harry felt something shove him aside. Surpised, HArry nearly fell of balance, but with Narya on his finger he wouldn't be so easily misplaced. A surge of power from the ring let him regain his balance, and the next moment he was glaring at Dudley.

"Dad, Dad, come look at what this snake's doing!" The larger boy yelled, even as he gave Harry an ugly smirk. For a moment, the dark-haired child felt Narya flare on his finger, and he stepped closer angrily. Dudley's expression melted, and he fell back a step in surprise. Before anything else could happen, however, there came a sudden howl of horror and both boys turned to look at Dudley's friend Piers. The boy who had accompanied them to the zoo, was flailing, as he tried not to fall into the suddenly open cage. Harry's eyes widened as he realized that the glass separating the boa constrictor from the rest of the zoo had disappeared.

" _Thanks, amigo._ " Harry flinched as he heard a voice that sounded halfway between hissing and talking, and he stared when the snake slid out of its tank with ease. It gave him a quick wink as it passed, before disappearing into the crowd and leaving Harry to stare after it. The next moment, the boy was being lifted, and he heard Vernon's voice muttering harshly into his ear.

"Oh, you've done it now, boy. You've done it now." Harry didn't notice however, too busy staring after the snake, and glancing at where its tank still stood empty. That hadn't been Narya's fault. He knew what the ring could do, and making a solid piece of glass disappear into thin air wasn't in its range of abilities. More than that, he had felt a surge of something, some power seperate from the ring. It was masked under the power he had drawn from the ring, evoking its aura to intimidate Dudley,, but it was there. And, as he found himself being dragged through the zoo towards the dursley's car, he couldn't help but wonder just where it had come from.

XXX

By the time summer rolled around and Harry was finally let out of the cupboard, he was growing ridiculously bored. The young Ring-maker hadn't touched his hammer the entire time, too distracted was he by ruminating on the strange abilities he had shown. Harry knew, of course, that he wasn't normal. The Hammer, Anvil, and Rings he had crafted were proof enough of that. And then there were other abilities he had shown in the past, from miraculously jumping onto roofs and regrowing hair instantaneously. Harry didn't know what it meant, he found himself growing more and more frustrated as time went wasn't until sometime in the middle of July that Harry would get his answer.

After his exile in the cupboard, Harry had avoided wearing the rings. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he couldn't help but think that wearing Narya on the day he got in the biggest trouble he had ever been was a bad omen. That morning however, Harry found himself staring at the Three where they rested on his lone sixth sense tugged at him, and, almost unwillingly, he reached out to pick one up. _Nenya._ He thought, turning over the mithril band set with a glittering diamond. It was the ring of water, and ring of Adamant. Protection, preservation, and concealment from evil were its powers. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harry slipped it onto his finger. In an instant, he closed his eyes as the power rushed through him, cleansing and purifying water that spilled into his veins and left him feeling utterly refreshed.

The rest of the morning started off well enough. Harry entered the kitchen with a suprising grace, Nenya already showing its worth as he felt more comfortable in his own skin than ever before. Each movement he made ;acked the gangliness of his youth, and he felt giddy with the power coursing through him. Harry felt like he could run for a year straight without stopping. Even the other Dursley's, following him into the dining room and taking their seats at the table, could do nothing to dampen his spirit.

As they took their seats, there came the sound of the mail slot opening and letters flopping to the floor. Harry, Dudley, and Vernon each shared a glance, and Harry knew he would end up getting it unless he felt like putting up a fight. Considering what had happened the last time he showed aggression while wearing one of the Three, he didn't particularly want that to happen. So it was with a sigh that he stood making his way out of the room and towards the front door. Picking up the mail, he started sorting through it listlessly, before freezing.

There, addressed in emerald ink that glinted in the morning light, was his name. Harry stared at the letter, _his_ letter. No one had ever sent him mail before. Who would? It was only with a yell of "Boy, hurry up!" That jerked Harry into action, and he tore his gaze away from the letter. Swiftly he walked back to the kitchen and passed on the other mail to Vernon, keeping his own. Job done, he allowed himself to be distracted once sank back into his seat, staring at the letter. Just before he could open it, however, Dudley noticed it in his hands.

"Dad, look, Harry's got a letter!" The blonde boy yelled, and Harry sent a glare at him. A moment later, however, he was distracted as Vernon reached around the table and clamped a hand down on Harry's letter, trying to tug it from his hand. With Nenya on his finger, however, Harry wouldn't give it up so easily and tightened his grip at the same time.

"Give it here, boy." The man growled, and Harry's eyes narrowed. This was _his_ letter, and he wouldn't give it up to anyone.

"It's my letter." He said, meeting his uncle's piggy eyes solidly.

"Give it here!" Vernon's face purpled, and he jerked his arm, trying to tear the letter away. Nenya flared, and Harry calmly pulled back, making Vernon slip and lose his grip. The boy smirked across the table at him, even as the man stared with his jaw hanging open.

"No, Uncle. It's _mine._ " He replied, before glancing to the side as Dudley, who had been watching with wide eyes, suddenly came flying at him with his fists balled.

"Do what my Dad says, Freak!" He yelled, and harry felt a flare of rage shoot through him at the old but familiar name. With barely a thought as to the consequences he drew on Nenya, and suddenly the air seemed to harden between them. Dudley's fist crashed against it, and Harry winced as he heard the bones in his hand crack. For a second there was silence, and then Dudley was howling with pain, gripping his broken hand.

"He-he broke it!" The child cried, staring at Harry through tear-filled eyes. The ravenette stared right back, before slowly looking to the older Dursley's. Rather than the anger he had expected, both Vernon and Petunia's face were pale with fear. Something about that struck Harry, and he glanced down at the letter. Their eyes followed his, and when he looked back up, they were even more white.

"What's in this letter?" he asked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. When Petunia squeaked, Harry smirked. As he thought, something about this whole scene was off. Vernon had been far too intent on getting the letter from him, and the Dursley's had never looked at him with _fear._ Anger, hatred, disgust, yes, but not fear. Slowly, noting how his relatives quavered with every action, harry tore into the letter and started reading. What he found, however, was not what he was expecting. With every word Harry read, he felt his gut twisting slightly. Finally, he dropped the parchment-not paper, parchment like they used centuries ago- and met his relative's eyes.

"Did you know?" He asked, again in a surprisingly calm voice. It was obvious what he meant. The letter, an invitation to a school known as Hogwarts, was almost too much to believe. Or at least, it would be if he couldn't even now feel the weight of Nenya on his hand. If the Rings of Power could exist, after all, why not witches and wizards? In fact, it made even more sense than he might have expected. Slowly, Petunia nodded, and Harry's lips twisted into a frown. "Of course you did. Why else would you go to so much trouble to shun me? To make me feel like a _freak_?" He laughed, a cold, bitter laugh that only stopped when suddenly, Petunia lunged forward to grab his shoulders.

"You can't go!" She cried, gripping Harry's shirt tightly, her face frantic. Tee raven-haired boy simply cocked an eyebrow, before brushing her hands aside easily.

"And why not, Aunt Petunia?" He asked derisively, stepping away. It was Vernon, who answered, however.

"We're not paying for some crack-pot old fool to teach you magic tricks!" The man, who appeared to have recovered from his fear, roared, and Harry glanced at him.

"Oh?" The boy said, before gesturing at Dudley. He had managed to crawl across the kitchen and was now pressed tightly into a corner, cradling his hand. Harry felt a measure of disgust at his cowardice, before turning back to the boy's father. "It looks to me like you don't have much choice." the message was clear, though Harry felt a measure of guilt using it. He hadn't _enjoyed_ hurting Dudley, though it was the least of what he deserved. But with Nenya curling about his finger, Harry was done. He was done listening to the Dursley's, done serving their every whim and desire, done letting them rule his life with their blatant tyranny. And if they tried to stop them, the boy reckoned he could find worse to do than a broken hand. Harry was a Ring-maker and Ringbearer, and these pathetic scraps of life had no right to control him or what he did.

Again, the color drained from Vernon's face as he looked between the two boys, his own son on the floor with a broken hand and the nephew who put him there. Reluctantly, as if the very thought caused him pain, the man backed down, picking Dudley up carefully. "Come on, son." He said gruffly, not looking anywhere near Harry. "Let's get you to the hospital." Harry watched as the two Dursley's slowly retreated, Petunia following. Once they had disappeared and he heard the front door close, he carefully sat back down in his chair, setting the letter on the table. For a long time, he simply stared at it, his mind racing from one thought to the other without pausing for so much as a second. Finally, he settled on the most pressing and troublesome of all.

 _How in bloody hell am I supposed to find all this stuff?_

XXX

Harry watched as the Dursley's car sped away, Petunia driving as fast as she could to escape 'the dangerous freak'. Once it turned a street however, he turned away to face the rundown inn his aunt had brusquely dropped him at. The ravenette had been mildly surprised that Petunia knew where to find the magical shopping district in which he could purchase supplies for Hogwarts. Apparently, Harry's own mother had been a witch, and when they were young the horse-ish woman had been subjected to numerous trips through Diagon Alley with her. And so it was that Harry found himself standing in front of a shabby, run-down establishment titled The Leaky Cauldron, wondering if perhaps this wasn't some sick prank. It hardly looked like the kind of place those who wielded the primal forces of magic would use to hide their secret society.

Finally, Harry shrugged and made his way up to the front door. Nenya was still on his finger, so any trouble that happened across his path could be dealt with, and he doubted Petunia would be brave enough to do something like a loud creak he pushed the door open and made his way inside, taking his surroundings in with a casual sweep of the are.

The Leaky Cauldron appeared much like Harry imagined any pub would, excepting the odd inhabitants. There was a simple bar, several scattered tables, and a couple of booths, all of which were mildly dusty and had a homely vibe. The people, however, were what drew Harry's eye. It was the middle of the afternoon, so the evening rush hadn't made it in yet, but he could see a fair few customers milling around. There were a couple men dressed in robes and pointed hats, a woman in the corner smoking a pipe, and several very pale people stuffed away into a corner where none of the natural light from outside could reach the important thing, the one that instantly set Harry on his guard and had nenya curling protectively around his finger, was the sense of _power_ that emanated from each and every one of them. He could feel it buzzing in the air, and lurking behind eyes. If Harry had any doubt that magic existed or that this was the place to find it, that doubt was now gone.

"Er, hello." Harry said, after approaching the counter. He felt a bit odd, standing at a bar at his age, but with Nenya bolstering his confidence, it was easily dismissed. At the sound of his voice the bartender, a wizened man with a bald head and crooked teeth, looked up and smiled.

"Ah, how can I help you young sir? Are your parents around?" Harry winced at the question. It didn't hurt, exactly, as he had never really known his parents, but he did wish that wasn't the case. Not to mention it must look strange for a boy to wander into a pub all on his own.

"Er, no. They're… kind of dead." In an instant, the smile was wiped off the barkeep's face, to be replaced by an understanding expression.

"Ah, my apologies. Are you a muggleborn then?" Harry, not recognizing the strange term, cocked his head.

"What's that?" He asked, and The man nodded slightly.

"If you don't recognize the term then chances are it applies. A muggleborn is a witch or wizard born to muggles; non-magic folk, if you like." Harry, understanding striking him, hummed slightly.

"Ah. My parents were magical, but I was raised by my… _muggle_ relatives, and didn't know I was a wizard until today." It made enough sense apparently, that the barkeep nodded in understanding.

"I see. Your Hogwarts letter, I take it?" Harry nodded, and he smiled. "Well, that might explain why you're not being escorted, if they expected you to know. I can give you directions to Gringotts then, so you can see if your parents left you any money for school. They're bound to have a vault with at least some gold if they were magical, and if not then the goblins can help you get access to the school's trust fund. Hogwarts has a system in place for orphans, last I checked." Harry, shocked by the sudden kindness and consideration the man was showing him, felt his jaw drop.

"I… uh, thank you, sir. That would be really helpful." Harry managed to choke out the words, not helped when the barkeep sent him a warm smile and patted his shoulder lightly.

"No need, young man, and please, call me Tom. it's a pleasure to help someone like you." Harry, a soft warmth growing in his chest, nodded, listening closely as Tom started explaining how to get into the Alley, and from there, Gringotts. But even as he listened, Harry's mind was distracted. Never before had someone shown him such unerring kindness. The Dursley's, of course, hated him, and all three had done their level best to convince the rest of Little Whinging to do the same. Even Miss Figg, nice as she was, seemed to be somewhat distant, as if she only watched him and fed him out of some misplaced duty. She was decent enough, of course, and he had always been glad to have at least one person who didn't either despise or fear him, the way Tom talked to him, with a quiet understanding and kindness… it was almost like how he felt when slipping on Narya and Nenya. It felt like coming home.

XXX

Diagon Alley was… it was interesting. Without Narya, the crowds didn't part nearly so easily as he might have wished, and Harry quickly found himself struggling to find a way through the mass of bodies, even as he stared around at his surroundings with warring sensations of shock and awe. Everywhere were wonders and miracles he might once have thought impossible. Magic items, shops for books and wands and potions ingredients, witches and wizards wearing all manner of clothing, and anything and everything Harry could possibly have imagined lined the streets, catching his eye. Underneath it all, as well, was that buzz of power, magic vibrating in the air and giving life to the entire Alley in its glory. And yet, despite the strange foreign items and people, despite all that seemed too brilliant to be true, and the knowledge that while he might have Nenya resting comfortably on his finger, he was surrounded by people more powerful and dangerous than him, Harry had never felt more at home.

Finally, after what felt like hours of struggling through the crowds, Harry managed to push his way to the massive marble building he had seen even from the other end of the Alley. It was truly intimidating, even with Nenya hardening his spirit, and the bank's majesty rivaled anything Harry had ever seen, barring the Three themselves. He wasn't afraid, however, and with a final deep breath to regain his composure, Harry entered the bank with all the grace and confidence of a mountain stream.

The inside of Gringotts appeared much the same as without, excepting the bustling hordes of magicals and goblins filling it. Harry didn't mind, however, walking straight to the nearest teller that appeared unoccupied. "Hello, I'm a bit new to the bank, and was wondering if you could help me?" At first, HArry thought the goblin hadn't heard him as he continued scratching out some sort of document with his quill. After a few seconds, however, the goblin paused, looking up.

"What do you need?" he asked, in a voice that practically bled boredom. Harry held back a wince, perfectly aware that he was probably breaking some sort of cultural taboo.

"Well," He began, grimacing. "My parents were apparently a witch and wizard, but I was raised in the muggle world and didn't know. Is there, perhaps, a way to figure out if they left me anything?" For a second, the goblin fixed him with a stern glare, as if judging Harry's sincerity, before sighing.

"There are many families who have left their fortunes to children, and it is not unheard of for cases such as yours to occur. IF you do not have a key, we can perform a blood test to confirm your identity, but it will cost money up front." The goblin tilted his glasses down a bit, and after a short moment Harry realised what he was hinting at. Quickly, he scrambled to pull out the fifty pound note given to him by Petunia for school supplies. He doubted it would have been enough anyways, but if his parents left him money, he didn't have to worry about that.

"Will this work?" He asked, carefully flattening the bill out. The goblin, unsurprisingly, curled his lips at the muggle money, but accepted it. Then, he reached into the desk he was sitting at and pulled out a small bowl, a piece of parchment, and a golden knife that gleamed wickedly in the bright torchlight.

"Prick your finger and squeeze out seven drops." The goblin ordered harshly. Harry eyed the knife warily, but seeing no other choice, did as told. The wound stung for a bit, especially as he slowly massaged out seven drops of blood, but almost as soon as it was done the wound practically disappeared. Harry suspected that was Nenya's work, which was confirmed when the goblin raised a questioning eyebrow. It likely wouldn't have caused concern if it were an enchantment of the knife or some such.

Finally, Harry watched carefully as the goblin whispered several words over the blood-filled bowl in a language he didn't understand, before pouring it out onto the parchment. Then, both wizard and goblin found their attention grasped as the blood started to writhe, forming slowly into words.

 _Lord Harry Potter, son of Lily Potter-nee-Evans and James Potter, heir to all titles and possessions thereof. Godson to Lord Sirius Black, heir apparent to all titles and possessions thereof, incarnate of Mair-_

Suddenly the goblin tore the paper, cutting off the writing as it formed, and it went up in a puff of flame. Harry, having been intently following the words, blinked at the sudden break. "Hey! It wasn't done yet." He said, annoyance slipping into his tone. Why would the goblin stop the test before it finished? He paused, however, when he saw the vicious glare the teller was giving him.

"It was done enough." The growled words were harsh, and Harry found himself meeting the goblin's harsh glare in surprise. Nenya tightened on his finger, and Harry's expression hardened.

"What, exactly, does that mean?" he asked, his voice tight. The goblin continued looking at him for a second, before letting out a harsh laugh.

"Not whatever you're thinking, I imagine. Simply that some information is not fit to be shared at your age. But enough of that. I shall see to it you are properly accommodated." Harry wanted to argue, he really did, but even he could see that that the goblin wasn't going to give him an explanation. It didn't matter, anyway, as the teller rang a small silver bell and the next second another goblin appeared beside him.

"Teller Snaggleclaw." The new goblin greeted, even as he gave Harry a dismissive glance. The teller, Snaggleclaw apparently nodded.

"Griphook. Mr. Potter here needs access to his vault, but is lacking his key. I trust you can assist him?" Griphook looked offended at the very suggestion that he might not be capable of doing his job, but unlike Harry, quailed under the teller's glare.

"Yes, Teller Snaggleclaw. I will ensure he is given all due respect." the other goblin regarded him for a few seconds, before nodding and turning back to Harry.

"Griphook here will be your guide, Mr. Potter. Have a good day." Even as Harry blinked back his surprise at the sudden dismissal, Snaggleclaw hopped down from his stool behind the desk and walked away briskly, disappearing into the depths of the bank withan moments. The wizard stared after ihm for a long moment, until, finally, he was drawn back to reality by the sound of a clearing throat. His head snapped back to see Griphook standing to the side looking at him expectantly, and for the first time since Harry had first put on Narya, he felt a blush of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. Trying to fight down the sensation, he followed Griphook as the goblin led them swiftly through the banks halls all the way to a dark, underground tunnel. Even when Griphook sent him a nasty grin, Harry didn't hesitate to step onto the waiting trolley. He had no doubt that it probably wouldn't be very safe. But with Nenya, he doubted anything would happen that he couldn't come out of alive.

Harry was right, of course, and one exhilarating cart ride later he was still grinning even as Griphook ran a finger down the small vault door they had stopped at. There was a sound of stone scraping stone, and the door slowly slid open to reveal a room piled with gleaming gold, shining silver, and twinkling bronze. He raised a surprised eyebrow. That was… a lot of money.

"This is all mine?" he asked Griphook, speaking to the goblin for the first time since they had met. Griphook, for his part, sneered.

"Your trust fund. The rest will become available upon your majority."The other eyebrow shot up, and he turned back to stare at the piles of precious metal. This was a trust fund? Harry resolved then and there to never tell the Dursley's he had money. Wizards were insane if they thought a pile of gold and silver qualified as a trust fund, but Harry's relative's wouldn't think a whit of snapping it up from underneath him. With a shrug, the ten-year-old set about gathering the golden coins in a pouch that Griphook grudgingly offered.

XXX

The rest of the trip was only mildly interesting until the very end. Sure, it was amazing to see all the different magical things filling Diagon Alley, but after awhile he grew tired of whipping his head back and forth between sights and sounds. Even the items listed on his Hogwarts letter proved to be slightly boring compared to the rest, although he did manage to find several intriguing books outside the required reading list and even bought a magnificent snowy owl as a pet. Nenya, as well, proved useful in bargaining as the unyielding support for his own confidence allowed him to press for better deals. But nothing truly stood out until he came to the last item on his list; a wand.

Harry looked at the old shop with a wary eye. Ollivander's, it claimed to be called, and everyone he had spoken to from shopkeepers to other witches and wizards doing their summer shopping had recommended it as the only reasonable place to buy a wand. He had seen one or two other shops scattered around the alley, but they appeared even more run-down than this one, so perhaps they had a point. Still, Ollivander's looked almost as if it were about to collapse in on itself. He wasn't entirely sure he should go in.

Sighing, Harry pushed aside his doubts and pushed open the door. A slight tinkling heralded his arrival, and Harry winced as the sound grated against his enhanced senses. He was distracted a moment later, however, when a soft voice rose from the depths of the shop.

"Good afternoon." Harry blinked, and suddenly there was an old man standing directly behind the counter, smiling kindly at him. The man was old, Harry noticed, with grey hair and wide pale eyes that shone like moons. His gaze was surprisingly intense as it bore into Harry.

"Hello." The ringbearer greeted, nodding slightly as he tried to hide his unease. There was something about the man, an ancient, coiling energy about him that made Harry want to shiver. The sensation grew even further when the man, Ollivander presumably, dropped his gaze to Harry's hand where Nenya rested, before rising back to meet Harry's even sharper than before. No one was supposed to be able to sense Nenya, let alone _see_ it.

"Mr. Potter." the wandmaker said with a wry grin. "I had wondered when I would be seeing you." At the sound of his name, Harry tensed. More and more, he was disliking this scene. Who exactly was Ollivander.

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked carefully, sliding somewhat deeper into the shop. While he hated being farther from the door, the child would rather have room to move if need be.

"I remember every customer I have ever had, Mr. Potter." The old man said as if in answer. "And you look very much like your parents. The face matches your father quite well for your age, but the eyes… your eyes are entirely Lily's." As he spoke, Ollivander's own eyes rested on Harry, appearing both serene and terribly old in the same moment. Harry fought down a shiver as he felt fingers of ice slide down his spine.

"Well." He tried, before swallowing against his suddenly-dry throat. He tried again. "Well, I came for a wand." The old wandmaker just smiled down at him, as if Harry had just said the most amusing thing in the world.

"Yes, I imagine you have." He said, before disappearing into the back of the shop. As he went, several tape measures jumped to life and started spinning around Harry, measuring anything and everything they could find. "You are Right-handed, I presume?" Ollivander's voice drifted from the stacks of wands, and for a short second Harry wondered as to how he had guessed. Then he felt Nenya curl where it lay on his left hand, and Harry looked at it. If Ollivander had seen Nenya, perhaps he recognized it, or at least that Nenya was a Ring of Power. And as Harry had always felt a disinclination to wear any of the Three on his dominant hand, perhaps the Wandmaker knew that. It was a terrifying thought.

"Yes." Harry called in response, futile though he knew it was. The next instant, the tape measure stopped, and Ollivander reappeared with a small box. Laying inside was a wand, rather plain-looking for a magical artifact.

"Willow and unicorn hair, twelve inches." He said, offering it to Harry. Tentatively, not quite sure what was supposed to happen, the boy reached into the box and lifted the wand. In an instant, he knew it was wrong. Nenya practically froze on his finger, and before he could stop it the wand shot out a storm of sparks. Even before he could react, the thing was whisked out of his hand by Ollivander, who waved away the disastrous results with a clm hand.

"Much as I expected." he said, making Harry frown. What could that possibly mean. Before he could ask, however, Ollivander was once again looking at him with that impossibly ancient gaze. "I believe we shall have to be very careful with you, Mr. Potter." Harry nodded slowly in agreement, and with a wry smile the man disappeared once again.

This time, it was much longer before Ollivander returned, and he carried the next wand with great reverence. He gently set it down on the counter. When Harry reached for it, however, Ollivander stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "Before you try again, Mr. Potter, why don't you take off that ring. I imagine it may guard your affections jealously." Harry blinked, then blinked again. So Ollivander _had_ seen nenya.

"I hardly believe that will be the case, Mr. Ollivander. " He said with a small smile, meeting the man's pale gaze with his emerald. "I am only Nenya's steward. And I trust it not to steer me wrong." even as he spoke, Harry could feel the ring curling about his fingers with reassurance. It was true; He trusted Nenya, just as the ring trusted him, and as Harry would trust any of the Three, Seven, or Nine. He was their maker, their mother and father both. While they would not always be in his possession, and would undoubtedly find their own bearers. Each of the nineteen would always owe Harry at least some measure of loyalty. Ollivander regarded him for a moment, some ancient spark burning in his eyes, before nodding.

"As you wish. The wand is Pear wood with a Phoenix feather core, fifteen inches and quite rigid. You may proceed." Harry gave a slight nod of his own, and picked up the wand. INstantly, he knew this was the one. Fire and magic burned through his veins, a song of power that touched his very soul and made it shiver. It wasn't like when he wore one of the Three, which would always be slightly foreign. This was _his_ wand, now and forever, not merely a treasure he kept safe for its rightful owner. He looked up at Ollivander and smiled.

"This is it." The man didn't refute his statement, merely nodding gently.

"I expect much from you, Mr. Potter. With that wand, you shall achieve truly amazing feats. Do not disappoint."And that was that. Harry paid his seven galleons and left, Nenya curled tightly about his left hand, and his wand in his right.

XXX

The month leading up to September First, Harry found himself in the novel position of being ignored. Normally, that wouldn't be strange, since the Dursley's _always_ ignored him except to give orders or punish him-or in Dudley's case, chase and beat him up. But now, they wouldn't do even that. Harry was like a wraith, utterly invisible. Even Narya could only make them tremble in fear as they were forced to recognize his presence.

Speaking of the rings, Harry had worn both Narya and Nenya with relative consistency. The third, however, he left untouched as something whispered in his mind, _not yet._ Each of the other two, he had first worn on a day that meant something, a day that changed his entire life. Narya, when he first finished the Three, and Nenya when he discovered he was a wizard. Even before they happened, he knew instinctively to wear them. So, when the day he was scheduled to go to Hogwarts arrived and he felt that sharp tug in his gut, he didn't hesitate.

When Harry had returned to Privet Drive after his excursion in Diagon Alley, he had found that the Dursley's had moved all his things to Dudley's extra bedroom. A sign of newfound respect, he assumed, but as it was far more comfortable than sleeping in the cupboard, he didn't bother dwelling on it. Now, Harry sat at his desk, looking at the Three. He couldn't leave them here, he knew. Something told him that would be a _very_ bad idea. But… Harry didn't know how he would keep them safe in Hogwarts. He could hardly leave them in his trunk where someone might break in, and carrying all three on his person might be even more troublesome. Wearing them all was out of the question. Harry knew instinctively that if he were to wear more than one at a time, death would be a blessing. Finally, HArry settled for putting them into a small Mokeskin pouch he had purchased at the Alley. It was dangerous; if someone were to steal it and find a way to break in, the consequences would be extreme. Harry had little choice, however.

With Narya and Nenya safely stowed away, Harry picked up the last, rolling it over in his hands. _Vilya, the Ring of Air._ His mind whispered. It was the dominant ring, the greatest of the had refrained from bearing it for many reasons, but now, as he prepared to take the first step in his new life, it was time. The gold band slipped on easily, its sapphire stone glinting in the sunlight, and Harry drew in a sharp breath as he felt a gentle breeze slide over his skin, even as a howling hurricane shrieked its way through his body. In an instant he knew why Vilya was the dominant ring. Harry could feel its power weaving through him, greater than Narya or Nenya had ever been.

The feeling of awe and strength remained with him as Harry rode with the Dursley's to King's Crossing, and when they drove away without a single look back. He merely shook his head and made his way to the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, before checking the ticket that had been tucked into his letter. Nine and three-quarters, it said. He glanced around, wondering if perhaps he had missed something, but there was nothing. The place was packed with people, but nowhere could he see the platform he needed. Harry frowned.

With Vilya on his finger, Harry's thoughts were clearer than he could ever remember them, and as he leaned against the barrier opposite Nine and Ten, he used that clarity to think. Wizards, in all he had found, were known both for their absurdity and prospensity for hiding things in plain sight. So what method could they possibly have used that fit both traits? After only a few moments, it struck him. He had to run into the barrier. It was the only place they could hide between Nine and Ten, and no muggle would willingly come up with such a tactic. After all, it was utterly illogical to run head-first at a stone barrier and expect not to crash, hence it was the _most_ logical for wizards. Whether that was a clever case of circular thinking, or simply a side effect, Wizards operated almost entirely on absurdity.

Sighing at the foolishness he was about to commit, Harry took hold of his trolley, smiling apologetically at his owl Hedwig, and pushed his way through the crowd until he was at a decent distance. Then, praying to whatever deities there might be that he didn't kill himself, Harry started to run. Slowly but surely the stone wall of the barrier drew closer until, suddenly, it wasn' surprise, more than anything, made harry almost lose control of his cart as he came skidding to a stop. The train station all around them, it seemed, had disappeared, barring a single platform that practically swarmed with people dressed in robes and pointed hats. Again, Harry felt that underlying current of power running through the crowd, and relaxed. He had made it, and withut smashing his face against a brick wall, as well.

Harry swiftly made his way to the train, missing Narya as he maneuvered artfully through the crowd. Finally, however, he made it to the train and started to load his things, barring a single small trunk with an extendable charm on it. He had come dressed in muggle clothes, and his school robes were held within. Carrying it with him, he made his way fully onto the train, and set about searching for a compartment. The Ringmaker passed several, filled to the brim with other students, until finally he found one that appeared suitable. There was a young blonde girl who appeared about his age in it, but she was alone. _And,_ he thought, _making friends wouldn't be such a bad thing._ He felt Vilya tighten, and even the pouch bearing Narya and Nenya shifted slightly. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Harry lifted his hand and knocked.

XXX

Daphne Greengrass was not a people person. Not that she didn't like people, really, but more often not, they didn't like her. Growing up, she had always had the sharpest tongue in her age group, and the sharpest mind. As children, however, especially children used to having everyone around them worship the ground they walked upon, those were decidedly negative traits to have. Even the other Grey family members tended to drift away from her, preferring to mingle amongst the Light and Dark rather than go anywhere near the 'Ice Queen' she was not surprised when she found herself alone on the Hogwarts Express for her first year. She was, however, shocked when there came a sudden knocking at the compartment door.

"Come in." Daphne called, even as she found herself trying to make sense of why. Who knocked on a train? Sure, it was probably much more polite than simply barging in without warning, but Daphne had seen far too many people disregard that in the few minutes she spent searching for one of her own to believe anyone _actually_ was distracted, however, when the door slid open to reveal a boy about her age with a veritable rat's nest of black hair poking his head in.

"Er, hello. Not to impose, but is it alright if I sat in here? This is the first compartment that's not full." Still somewhat off-balanced, Daphne could only nod. The boy grinned, a surprisingly charming expression, before sliding inside with a grace that had Daphne blinking and closing the door behind him. There was a moment where the girl was left staring at his back as the boy lifted a small trunk onto one of the upper racks, and but it ended quickly, and soon she was faced with him sitting directly across from her.

For a minute, there was silence as the two eleven-year-olds faced each other, and daphne couldn't help but wonder what she was supposed to had never had to introduce herself; her parents handled that, and other kid's parents introduced them, and then they were told to go off and play where the adults weren't bothered. Sadly, she didn't think offering a doll or toy wand would help in this situation. The decision was taken from her, however, when the boy suddenly held out his hand, a wry grin on his face.

"Sorry, I'm being rude. My name is Harry." Daphne stared down at the hand in shock for a moment, quite surprised by both the sudden introduction and first name, before tentatively taking it.

"Daphne Greengrass." She said quietly, giving the hand a gentle shake. The boy's grin widened, and somehow, Daphne found her own lips twisting upwards.

"Well then Daphne Greengrass, it's a pleasure to meet you." Harry said with such utter seriousness that a small laugh escaped Daphne. She almost jumped, surprised by the sound. Before she could rush to apologize, however, the boy was laughing himself, and his face had relaxed considerably.

"Sorry, sorry, i just couldn't help myself. You looked like you needed a good laugh." Even as Daphne puzzled over what he could mean by the last bit, the first registered in her mind and she felt a wave of annoyance sweep over her. He had been pranking her?

"You are a prat." She said, before she could catch herself. There it was, the famous Greengrass tongue. Daphne wanted to hit herself for insulting someone so soon after she had met them. Yes, his joke had been surprising, but it hardly deserved such a cold reception. Surpringly, however, Harry didn't frown or get up and walk away. If anything, his grin widened even further.

"Of course I am. Where would the fun be in life otherwise?" Daphne blinked at the answer, surprised. He wasn't angry? Carefully, she peeked a glance, but there was no subterfuge in his emerald gaze. If anything, the eyes were far too green to be real seemed to sparkle with mirth, and Harry was perfectly relaxed as he leaned back in the seat with his legs half-crossed.

"I'm sorry." Daphne suddenly blurted, before blushing fiercely. It wasn't often she apologized. More like than not whoever had earned her ire deserved it perfectly,. So there was no need. But she had insulted this boy, who did nothing more than try to make her laugh-and succeeded, even. Harry, surprisingly, simply waved the apology away, laughing again.

"Don't worry about it. I've had far worse." Daphne's blush faded when she heard the words. There was something buried in that sentence, underneath the nonchalance, that was cold and bitter. Again, she felt a surge of guilt. Was this boy insulted so often he had grown to accept it as a matter of course? Yet he seemed so careless as he sat there, like a lord waving away gnats, that she couldn't be sure.

"If you say so." Daphne said carefully. Harry smiled in answer, looking out the window. Daphne took the break in conversation as a chance to examine him more thoroughly, without the distraction of dialogue. As she had noted before, his hair was blacker than pitch and looked utterly untameable, as if a family of birds had taken up permanent residence. She shuddered to even think of trying to brush that mess. His eyes were what really drew Daphne's attention however, an unearthly emerald green that burned like stars. And there just above, hidden by the dark bangs, was a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Daphne let out a small squeak as that last bit registered in her mind, and her eyes went wide. _This_ was Harry Potter? But what on earth was he doing in her compartment? And why was she suddenly breathing so hard? Harry, glancing back at the girl who had practically started hyperventilating, frowned.

"Are you alright?" He asked with concern, and the sound of his voice snapped Daphne back to reality. Slowly, she drew in several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. It would do no good to panic, even if she _was_ currently sitting across from a boy famed to be the savior of the Wizarding World.

"I apologize." She said finally, doing her best to meet his concerned gaze. "I was just surprised to realize that Harry Potter was sitting in my compartment." Instantly, Daphne knew that had been the wrong thing to say. The air in the compartment froze, and Harry's eyes narrowed. Suddenly, the boy didn't look his age at all, and again Daphne's breath drew short.

"I never said my last name." The words were calm, but there was a cold edge to them that could cut steel, and Daphne found herself gulping heavily. Harry's eyes had chilled into icy daggers as they bore into her.

"I…" Daphne started, confusion and fear warring within her. She was filled with the sensation that Harry was _not_ someone she wanted angry at her, but at the same time, she couldn't understand his reaction. Everybody knew of Harry Potter, and it wasn't even like he was hiding his scar. "I recognized your scar. I'm sorry." _Don't hurt me._ The though, pulled from some primal part of her mind Daphne didn't quite recognize, lit on the tip of her tongue, but she managed to stop herself from saying it. She didn't exactly want to sound like a mewling kitten. Even now she was having difficulty not shrinking away from the boy as his gaze sharpened even more.

"What does my scar have to do with anything?" Harry asked, watching her carefully for any movements. "It's just something I got in the car crash." At first, Daphne had no idea what the boy meant; it sounded like he was speaking nonsense. But then, just as she was about to open her mouth to say… she wasn't quite sure what, but _something_ , her mind snagged on a single word. _Car_. It was a muggle word. If Harry was using muggle words, then chances were he had been raised by muggles. Which meant he might not know _anything_ about the Wizarding World, including his own legend.

"You-you don't know. Dear Merlin, you don't know _anything._ " Daphne wanted to slap herself as soon as the words spilled out of her mouth when the temperature dropped several more degrees. She could swear if Harry's eyes narrowed anymore they would be closed completely.

"I'm not an idiot, if that's what you're implying." The ravenette growled, and Daphne winced as his left hand clenched. If there was any doubt that this boy was Harry Potter, it had fled long ago. She could _feel_ his magic snapping all around them, a blazing inferno that seemed about to burst from his skin at any moment. She had known he would be powerful-how could he not, after defeating the Dark Lord?- but this went beyond even that. Mage-sight, as the ability was called, was something granted to all magicals, but few bothered to train it. Daphne had, and as she looked at Harry now, he was like a star in her eyes, brilliant and burning with power. How had she missed it, when he first walked into the compartment?

"No, that's not what I meant, I-" Daphne stopped herself, struggling to breathe deeply. She knew Harry would be watching her, ready to take even the smallest slight as an insult. After a long moment, she started again, fighting to keep her voice even. "I meant no insult, Harry. But if you were raised by muggles, as I now suspect, there are a few things you should know before exiting this train." She paused then, raising her pale, mint-green eyes to meet the emerald stars that were Harry's. They had widened slightly, the only sign of relenting he gave.

"Such as?" Harry asked, turning the words into a drawl that somehow expressed his sheer aggravation and impatience. Daphne fought back a wince.

"Well, to begin with, you are… rather well known in the Wizarding World. The name Harry Potter might as well be synonymous with 'savior'."That, at least, seemed to lessen Harry's anger, if only by replacing it with shock. He blinked at her, face going blank.

"How on earth did that happen?" He asked incredulously, and this time Daphne did wince. This would not be easy.

"You… may have defeated a Dark Lord at the age of one." She spoke carefully, but there really was no way to say it without sounding either utterly ridiculous or utterly worshipful. Daphne could only hope she had leaned more towards the former than latter. Apparently, Harry agreed.

"That's ridiculous." he said, eyes now wide open as he stared at Daphne in a likely hope she would tell him it was a joke. Sadly, that wasn't an option.

"It's true. The Dark Lord killed your parents, tried to kill you, and as far as anyone can tell, failed and blew himself up in the process. No one knows why though." Daphne knew she wasn't exactly telling the story in the best way. She hdn't even mentioned the war, or anything else, really, but she was still somewhat rickety from the feeling of Harry's anger. Even now that he had calmed some she could feel his power coiled tightly, like a viper preparing to spring.

"But…" Harry started to say something, before catching himself and frowning. "Why would someone want to kill my parents, let alone me?" At this, Daphne could only shrug helplessly, guilt piercing her.

"There was a war. The Dark Lord led one side, and your parents fought for the other." It was the best she could come up with. In truth, no one could tell why he had targeted the Potter's in particular. They were powerful, yes, and sharp thorns in the Dark Lord's side, but that hardly justified such personal attention. Many simply attributed it to whatever power had allowed Harry to destroy him, since if it could kill the Dark Lord, his followers likely would have failed as well. Harry just frowned, tilting his head slightly.

"You won't say his name. Why?" Daphne blinked at the sudden question, taken aback. Of course, if Harry didn't even know the Dark Lord existed then he wouldn't know of the fear, the utter mind-bending terror that had consumed the Wizarding World during his reign.

"Nobody says his name. They're too afraid it might bring him back, and You-Know-Who sounds silly to say." Even as she said it, Daphne felt silly herself. There were no known magics that could possibly raise someone from the dead, let alone because of a name. She herself wasn't really _afraid_ to say it, but with everyone she had ever known simply referring to him as 'The Dark Lord', she had fallen into the habit. Harry, for his part, just shook his head, grinning wryly.

"I'll say it again, that's bloody ridiculous. Do you even know his name?" Daphne nodded slowly. She had heard it once or twice, but only in hushed whispers and dark rooms. That was enough, however, for her to remember.

"It's… Voldemort." She said carefully. Harry tilted his head slightly, before grinning as his green eyes glimmered with amusement.

"His parents must have hated his guts." He said finally, and Daphne found herself staring at him in shock. To so casually slander the Dark Lord, especially having learned he had killed Harry's parents… the boy was brave, she would give him that. Suicidally so, perhaps, but brave. She shuddered to think of what he would do if faced with Voldemort himself.

"I… suppose." She said, after a while, not quite sure what she was meant to say. Harry, thankfully, seemed to take that as enough, and smiled.

"Alright then, now that we're done with all the heavy stuff, let's find something else to talk about. For example, I've read Hogwarts is separated into four houses. Think you could explain them for me?" Daphne, grateful for the escape, took it gladly, launching into an explanation of the four houses and their traits, trying to be as fair and unbiased as she could. It wasn't easy, of course, she had been raised with a heavy predisposition to Slytherin, but she tried. As she talked, however, Daphne couldn't keep herself from glancing at Harry periodically, and the way he smiled, laughed, and moved. Was this friendship, she mused? Even if not, she decided, it was nice. And that was more than enough for her.

XXX

Harry looked around eagerly as he stepped off the train with Daphne at his side. The blonde girl gave him a small smile when she noticed him glancing at her, and Harry found himself returning it. He had not been expecting, when he knocked upon her compartment door, to learn what he did. He had even been wary that they might get along at all, especially when she declared quite sourly that he was a prat after his minor prank, but with Vilya on his finger and her quick apology, the worry had been shifted aside easily. Even his mistrust when she somehow knew who he was had not scared the girl off, despite his uncalled-for were several moments he expected Daphne to run from his presence, but by some miracle she stayed even under the blatant display of Vilya's control over elements and calmly explained just how she knew his name.

It had come as a tremendous shock to learn that he was apparently some Wizarding analogue for Jesus. Harry had never been particularly religious, but the Dursley's attended church faithfully, even if only to appear 'normal', and he knew enough of the bible to recognize the signs. It might even explain the goblins' reactions to him, though that thought sat uneasily. Whatever the case, however, Harry found himself wary of what would happen when his identity was revealed. Something about the thought that people might try to hero-worship him repulsed Harry. He had been a baby, according to Daphne, when the Dark Lord fell. Whatever caused it couldn't possibly have been him. And even if he had achieved a similar feat at a greater age, he didn't need praise. That wasn't what heroes were meant to be.

Harry's thoughts were jerked away from the subject as he felt Daphne tugging gently on his arm to lead him off the platform. They were following closely behind a veritable giant of a man with a massive beard that covered most of his face and was calling for the first years to follow him. Harry gave Daphne a thankful smile as he were swiftly lost in the crowd of pale faces, moving down to the edge of a vast and shadowy lake.

Each of the boats were four to a person, and soon enough Daphne and Harry found themselves sharing one with boy with dark skin and vaguely italian features, as well as another who was round faced and nervous looking. Harry eyed them curiously, but neither looked particularly eager to talk, so he remained silent. Instead, the ravenette turned his eyes forward, searching the night for his first sight of Hogwarts.

When it came, even Vilya curled appreciatively on Harry's finger. There was something truly majestic about the castle, with its soaring towers and sweeping balconies, and glowing windows that flickered merrily in the darkness. It was more than a simple castle, he could see now. Hogwarts was a fortress, a bastion of learning and power that stood against the darkness of the world, with its grey stone shining in the moonlight. He whistled appreciatively at the sight. _That_ was impressive.

Soon enough, the students had beached in a small, underground harbor, and were once again following the large man up a rough trail towards the castle. They came to a set of heavy wooden doors, intricately carved. Harry's gaze trailed over the artwork as the giant-Harry assumed he was a giant of some sort- knocked heavily three times. It looked interesting, but in the darkness he couldn't make out any particular shapes.

ALmost as soon as Harry stopped knocking, the doors swung wide to reveal a stern-looking woman. Her greying hair was done up in a professional bun and she was dressed in emerald green robes that shimmered in the torchlight.

"Professor McGonagall, I've brough' the firs' years for yeh."The giant said in his rumbling voice, and McGonagall nodded in answer.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here." Her voice was stern, but warm as she spoke, and Hagrid smiled, before turning and shooing the students behind him up the stairs. The professor easily led them up the stairs and through the entrance hall, a large, spacious area that flickered with torchlight. Stopping in front of a set of stone doors that dwarfed even the first set, she turned and faced the assembled first years.

"Good evening, and welcome to Hogwarts. " She started. "The start-of-term banquet is about to begin, but before you can take your seats, all of you must be sorted into your houses." McGonagall paused here, her eyes sweeping over the various students, and Harry felt Vilya curl around his finger protectively. The Professor's gaze slid past him with little effort, however, and she begun again. "For the duration of your education, your house will be like a family here at Hogwarts. You will eat with your house, you will sleep with your house, and spend free time in the house common room."

Silence reigned as each of the twenty-something students processed her words, trying to come to terms with them. Whatever house they ended up in would dictate their lives for the next seven years, and likely far beyond that. Even Harry felt a measure of unease slipping into his heart. When McGonagall began again, it was with sharp eyes and rapt ears focused entirely on her.

"The four houses are Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. Each has its own history, and each have produced witches and wizards both of outstanding skill and ability. Every triumph will earn you house points, and every failure, lose them. I hope each and every one of you will be a credit to your house." Harry raised an eyebrow at the comment. They were eleven years old. How much did she actually expect them to do?. "The sorting ceremony will begin shortly. I suggest you tidy yourselves up." With the blatant dismissal, McGonagall swept through the stone doors and out of their sight, leaving the students to chatter among themselves. Harry turned to Daphne, who was staring pensively after her, and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, that was interesting. Are houses really that important?" He asked. They had discussed each of the fours traits on the train, but even then he hadn't thought much of what it would _mean_ to be sorted. Slowly, Daphne nodded.

"Yes, they are. Your entire social circle tends to be decided by your house. Like sticks with like, and there are some intense rivalries between houses that extend even beyond Quidditch." Harry hummed quietly in response, turning the information over in his mind. While interesting, it presented several problems even at first glance.

"Well that's stupid." He said glancing over at the other first years. Many of them seemed to be discussing how they would be sorted, which made little sense. They would find out soon enough. Harry ignored them, turning back to daphne. "I mean, really, variety is what gives people strength. You need balance, even just in a group of friends." Surprisingly, Daphne chuckled at this.

"Perhaps." She said, smirking. "But you try telling anybody that. From what I've heard, the fights between Gryffindor and Slytherin especially can be vicious, even for us first-years." Harry frowned. That was ridiculous, even for Wizards. Maybe there was more to it, but… Somehow, he thought, he would need to change that. It would be stupid to isolate certain peers based solely on which house they ended up in.

Before Harry could question Daphne further, there came a sudden scream from one of the other students. He turned, only to freeze when he saw the pale, shimmiering forms stepping out of walls and floating past. _Wraiths,_ his mind whispered in his ear, and Vilya coiled tightly about his finger. Harry drew on the Ring's power, gathering it about him in preparation. A moment later, however, a hand on his arm stopped him, and he looked down to see Daphne's pale green eyes staring at him with concern.

"Harry? Are you alright?"With his mouth drawn tight, the Ring-maker jerked his head towards the shimmering forms that even now were descending into the students' midst.

"Can you not see the Wraiths?" He asked rhetorically, glaring down at the blonde. For a moment there was silence as the two children stared at each other, until finally Daphne broke it with a short laugh.

"Oh, Harry, those are just ghosts, not Wraiths. Trust me, there's a big difference." Harry stared at her, looking for any sign of deception, even as a small part of his mind wondered at the severity of his response. He wasn't even sure what exactly was so bad about Wraiths, beyond the instinctual hatred and fear that had gripped him when he sighted them. Daphne held firm, however, meeting his gaze inch for inch, and finally, he relented, releasing his grip on Vilya's power. He could see the ghosts talking with students beyond them, and they did not seem hostile.

"Sorry." he muttered to Daphne, receiving a small smile in return.

"It's alright. You wouldn't be the first person to react like that."Harry shook his head, but said nothing more. Several seconds later, the ghosts had disappeared, drifting through the Great door, Immediately after McGonagall appeared, her sharp voice pulling everyone's attention to her.

"The Sorting Ceremony will begin now. Follow me." With one last squeeze from Daphne, the two of them made their way into the hall with the rest of their classmates. Inside was a sight perhaps even more grand than that of Hogwarts's exterior. The Hall was ridiculously long, with four great tables lined with students laid along its length and a fifth standing perpendicular at the end that held several adults who could only be the staff. Hundreds of lit candles floated through the air around them, providing light, and looking up Harry could see the stormy sky where a roof should be. He whistled lowly at the sight; that must have been required tremendous skill to enchant.

Every eye in the great hall was on the mass of first years as they bustled their way up the middle gap between tables, and whispers followed them with every , they stopped just before the raised dais on which the staff table rested, and watched as MjcGonagall set out a stool with an old, patchy hat upon it. For a moment, Harry mused if perhaps the Professor was pulling a prank on them, until suddenly a wide mouth opened on the hat's brim and it begun to sing.

As Harry listened to the song, he couldn't help but wonder who in their right mind had come up with this method of Sorting. A magical hat would give them a personality test based on what it found in their head? Harry wondered if perhaps he shouldn't be wearing Narya or Nenya, just in case. Both had at least some protection against mental domination. Vilya, however, was meant to dominate _others_. This would be interesting.

The sorting was slow-going, and as more and more time passed, Harry started to fidget. Daphne was sent to Slytherin after only a few moments under the hat, something that had him clapping hard for her. She mentioned on the train that Slytherin would be her preferred house. The round-faced boy, Neville Longbottom, found his way to Gryffindor, and Harry clapped for that as well. He looked like he would need it, especially when the boy forgot to take off the hat and had to run back with it, which had a great majority of the Hall laughing. Then, finally, it was Harry's turn.

"Potter, Harry!" As soon as McGonagall called out his name, the whispers started, rising until the room practically rang with noise and necks of all ages started stretching as their owners searched for him. Harry ignored it all, however, stepping proudly forward with Vilya curling warmly on his finger. Let everyone stare, he thought. Let them whisper and make their assumptions. He would prove them all wrong, and when he did, they would see him for himself, and not whatever legends they had crafted in their heads. Without hesitation he made his way to the hat and slipped it over his head.

" _Ahhh, now I haven't had a mind this interesting to sort in a long time._ " Harry blinked at the wise voice that whispered in his ear. Well, that was unexpected. " _Oh no, you are the unexpected one, mister Potter. Ring-maker, Ringbearer, and a hero with songs sung about you before you could even walk. I shall enjoy sorting you._ "

 _I did nothing to earn those songs._ Harry thought, gripping the stool tightly. The Hat laughed quietly in his mind.

" _Ah, but didn't you?_ " Harry frowned at the cryptic request, but the hat moved on before he could answer. " _Now, let us begin, shall we? There is much of interest here. Wisdom is present, though young and untested. Loyalty as well, a fierce need to protect those you care about. But there are precious few of those, no?_ " Harry nodded slightly, not bothering to answer. The hat chuckled. " _Yes, I think both Rowena's and Helga's houses are out. You would do well, no doubt, but you would not_ thrive. _So that leaves Gryffindor and Slytherin._ "

 _What are the differences?_ Harry asked silently.

" _Well, you are certainly brave, and no stranger to pride. That ring you're wearing is proof of both._ " Unbidden, Harry's left hand curled, and he growled under his breath. " _Worry not, I am bound to keep any secrets I may discover, even from the Headmaster. But let us continue. It took great courage to risk forging your Three as you did, not to mention tremendous fortitude, and I can sense how you glow with the accomplishment. Yet there is more to you, is there not? You are even less of a stranger to cunning than you know, and to defy an entire society's perceptions is most certainly an ambitious act. I could see you doing equally well in both houses._ " For a long moment, Harry sat perfectly still under the hat, aware that every eye in the room was resting solely upon him. The unspoken question was clear. Where would Harry like to go? He rubbed Vilya, thinking. Where _would_ he like to go? Daphne was in Slytherin, but joining Gryffindor wouldn't make it impossible to remain friends with her, and he could easily see himself making friends with others. And yet there was something seductive to the call of the green and silver house, a whispering of cunning and power that he couldn't deny his attraction to. Finally, however, he landed on one last question, one that he would have to answer eventually, anyways.

 _And where will I find the other Ringbearers?_ He thought to the hat, and he had the distinct sensation that it was smiling.

" _Oh dear boy, they are all around you, no matter where you may go. You know as well as I that house does not define worth._ " Harry grimaced, but could find no fault with the argument. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them, they seemed almost to glow.

"Slytherin!" The hat shouted, pulling Harry's answer from his very mind, and slowly he stood, slipping it off his head. With a small smile on his face, he walked to where Daphne sat and sat down beside her, grateful as she set a hand on his shoulder.

"Welcome to the Snake Pit." The blonde said quietly, earning a grateful nod before both students turned back to continue watching the Sorting. It progressed much as before, albeit now with far less attention as hundreds of students were sneaking furtive glances over at him. The entire room had been rendered silent at his Sorting. Harry imagined they had been expecting him to end up in Gryffindor, the supposed 'Light' house. He took great pleasure in having proven them wrong.

The sorting ended with the dark-skinned boy from their boat, one Blaise Zabini, being sent to Slytherin. Harry was surprised when the boy sat down on his other side, but the other boy said nothing beyond a polite greeting, so he pushed the thought aside. Instead he turned his attention to the Head Table, where an old man he presumed to be Dumbledore, with long, silvery hair and a beard tucked into his belt, was rising to his feet.

"Welcome, everyone, to a New year at Hogwarts. Before we being, I would like to say a few words. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" Harry raised a curious eyebrow at the man whose blue eyes were twinkling madly down at the school. That was a… rather eccentric introduction. A moment later, however, he was distracted as the plates lining their table were filled with steaming piles of food. Harry blinked, before glancing at Daphne.

"Why do I get the feeling that man is nowhere near as mad as he seems." The blond just grinned ruefully, shrugging.

"He's the only person to stand up to the Dark Lord and come anywhere near winning. You don't do that without _some_ cunning." Harry found he couldn't disagree with her, and with nothing more to say, dug into the food in front of him. Halfway through his second plate of pheasant, however, he was interrupted by a drawling voice.

"So, it seems the great hero Harry Potter has deigned to join Slytherin." Harry, lifting his attention from the meal, cocked an eyebrow at he speaker. It was a boy his age, with platinum blonde hair even paler than Daphne's and a ridiculously smug expression on his face.

Can I help you?" Harry said, just barely keeping his annoyance at being interrupted out of his voice. The boy didn't notice, offering a hand.

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. If you're going to be in Slytherin, i can help you tell which are the wrong sort to associate with." The blonde boy glanced over to Daphne, who had stiffened as soon as Draco started talking. "Looks like you'll need it." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harry felt his face go blank. Did the boy actually say what Harry thought he did? A single glance at Daphne confirmed it. Her lips were pursed, and she was staring down at the plate in front of her even as her hands shook with barely contained rage. Harry reached out with one hand, touching her arm. Almost immediately, the girl stopped shaking and she looked up at him, her mint green eyes glistening. Harry's lips twitched into the barest hints of a smile, before it died as he turned to face Malfoy once again.

"Daphne is a friend." He stated in an even voice, even as he drew on Vilya to exert control over the air. Their entire area's temperature dropped, and a faint breeze stirred Malfoy's hair as he shivered. Suddenly, the boy was looking slightly more nervous, even as he let out a high, nasally laugh.

"What, were you raised by muggles? Greengrass is probably just using you." Harry's lips twitched upwards. Malfoy, it seemed, was an idiot. With a thought, he gave a sharp tug on Vilya's power, and a heavy gust of wind suddenly tore through the Hall, throwing the boy forwards into the table. In an instant, all conversation around them died. Harry ignored the other students, however, as he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands. Malfoy, who had only just stopped himself from crashing face-first into his food, looked up to meet his steady gaze.

"It would seem you misunderstood, so let me repeat myself. Daphne is a _friend_. And I defend my friends." The blonde haired boy stared up at him, fear shining brightly in his flint-grey eyes, and Harry allowed himself to smirk. It was blatantly apparent that the boy was not used to being challenged, from the way he had arrogantly introduced himself to the sudden indecision of what to do after Harry's retaliation.

"How did you do that?" Malfoy asked in a quavering voice. Harry's smirk widened, and he leaned further forward as if to whisper secretively.

"I killed a Dark Lord at one, Malfoy." He said, allowing a hint of teeth to peek through his lips. "How do you _think_ I did it?" His words had the desired effect. Instantly Malfoy scuttled off down the table whence he came, and Harry leaned back with a sigh. He had been hoping not to make enemies so soon. As he allowed himself to relax, however, Harry's attention was jerked by a sudden touch on his arm.

"Thankyou." Daphne's voice was quiet as she stared up at him, pel green eyes wide with gratitude and awe. "You didn't have to defend me, but thank you." Harry's lips twitched upwards intoa gentle smile, and he shook his head.

"Of course I had to defend you," he said, glancing back at where Malfoy had gone. "Like I told that prat, you're my friend. And I defend my friends."Daphne smiled at that, and Harry felt his heart warm as he returned to his food. It had been a long day. From revelations about his past to talking hats, and even rich prats trying to get into his favor, Harry had been riding a rollercoaster of surprise after surprise. But, as he felt Daphne's arm brush his when she shifted closer, he knew it was all worth it. Friendship, after all, was the greatest magic there was.


	2. Chapter 2

The feast ended without any further interruption, yet Harry found himself itching anxiously. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall resting upon him, both those of his fellow students and the staff members, and the young Ringbearer wanted nothing more than to slip into bed and hide from their myriad gazes. He was forced to remain seated, however, making idle small-talk with Daphne about their expectations for class the next day, and shying away any time a ghost drew near. He was still not comfortable with their presence, so like that of a Wraith. He had not yet managed to sort out the meaning of the word in his own mind, but the knowledge was there. Wraiths were dangerous, and these ghosts resembled them far too closely for comfort or security.

Eventually, Harry's attention was drawn to the Head table as the food disappeared in an instant, and the Headmaster rose to speak once again. He listened with only half an ear to the routine-sounding warnings. Harry didn't doubt that knowledge of the rules might be useful to have, but even if he were to go flaunting them, he would likely do so in a manner that couldn't be traced back to him. After all, where was the fun in simply making a mess? Where was the intrigue? It wasn't until the bearded man mentioned a third-floor corridor that promised 'certain death' that Harry perked up, but even that only held his attention for a moment or two. His true torture, however, came when the school song was introduced.

Harry winced at the cacophony of voices all singing in different tunes and pitches, only to form an incoherent mess of sound that threatened to make his ears bleed. The Ring-maker was no stranger to music. It was, he had found, an integral part of his forging, to sing the songs of hammer and anvil, of stone and metal, fire and power as he wove them into the metal. They were melodious tunes that flowed and burned like the gentle waves of a calm sea, or warmed the soul as a blazing hearth. Yet as Harry sat listening to the atrocity those around him considered the school song, he was forced to wonder if wizards even knew what music actually was. Even Daphne was singing along, a quiet, humming lullaby that Harry's senses, enhanced as they were by the Ring of Power he wore, had to strain to catch.

Eventually, the music-if it could even be called such- came to an end with the closing of a painfully slow funeral march sung by two redheaded Gryffindor twins, and Professor Dumbledore released them to their dorms. The boy rose with his housemates, following along in the prefect's wake with anxiousness. Even Vilya could not stave off the cloud of exhaustion that was slowly starting to overcome him. Soon enough though, they had made their way through the winding dungeons and dark corridors to enter the Slytherin common room.

It was a surprisingly comfortable looking place, lit dimly by glowing emerald orbs of light that hung from the ceiling and furnished with fine leather seats and plush couches that somehow maintained a proud and noble demeanor. Several wide windows portrayed a murky underwater view through the fine glass, one which Harry assumed belonged to the Black Lake. As the whole group of first-year students drew to a stop and the prefect leading them turned, he considered simply collapsing onto one of the couches and falling asleep there.

"Alright newbies, listen up." The prefect, a tall girl with curly brown hair and sharp eyes said, drawing their attention. "I'm your prefect, Gemma Farley, and it is my duty to inform you of what being in Slytherin House means, as well as what will be expected of you as one of us."" She paused, eyeing each of the younger students in turn, before raising an arm and gesturing towards the Common Room as a whole. "This is the Snake Pit. For us Slytherins, it's home sweet home, and for everyone else in Hogwarts, a complete mystery. It will _stay_ that way, understood?" Several heads nodded in tandem, including Harry's, and the Prefect smirked. "What do you know, it looks like this bunch might not all be idiots. Moving on, there are a few _very_ simple rules when it comes to conduct. First, you are Slytherins, the cunning, ambitious, and clever. I expect you to act like it. No getting caught breaking rules, no goofing off in class or disrespecting teachers, and most of all, _no making us look bad._ We have won the House Cup for six years now, Several of our seventh years are hoping to be the first class in history to have a perfect run. This _will_ happen." The room was silent as everyone stared widely at Farley in a mixture of trepidation and awe. Harry, for his part, merely crossed his arms and raised a bemused eyebrow. The older student certainly knew how to play a crowd with her sharp voice and commanding aura that demanded respect as her eyes roved over the group. Still, it was difficult to impress Harry, especially when he could feel Vilya warming on his finger in challenge.

"Now then, second rule." Gemma Farley continued, after a moment of allowing her words to sink in. "As you may have noticed, Slytherin has a bit of a bad reputation. As such, we Snakes have to stick together. Students, teachers, and even the castle itself will go to any lengths to cause us mischief and take us down. So when in public, we put up a united front, and we stick to that front. You can hash out any problems you may have with your fellow classmates here in the common room, but out there, in front of the rest of the school, we are all brothers and sisters. Potter, Malfoy." Surprised at the sudden address, Harry shifted, his arms loosening slightly as he met Foster's sharp gaze. Malfoy, he was pleased to see, lacked such poise and was struggling to hide a measure of nervousness.

"Did you need something, Farley?" Harry asked, smirking as he saw the light of surprise blossom in her eyes. It died quickly, however, to be replaced by a stern frown.

"Don't even think of getting cheeky with me, Potter. I noticed your little spat at the feast. It can be forgiven, since neither of you had been formally inducted into Slytherin, but that crap stays hidden from now on, got it?" Harry spent a moment staring at the Prefect, not backing down an inch as his thumb rubbed against Vilya, before he nodded slowly.

"Gladly," Harry said with a slightly toothy smile, glancing at Malfoy from the corner of his eye. "As long as he extends the same courtesy, of course." The blonde froze under Harry's gaze, before turning carefully away to look at Farley fully.

"I can restrain myself." He stated, before turning a baleful glare at Harry with his grey eyes. "Some of us know how to control their magic." Harry blinked, surprised at the boy's courage, before his grin widened a touch.

"I'm sure you'll learn it eventually, Malfoy." Harry felt satisfaction flare in his heart as Malfoy seethed, opening his mouth to throw another insult his way. Foster stepped between them before he could get it out, however, and the blonde paused under her sharp gaze.

"Enough." The older girl said in a voice that could cut steel, and all the first year students who had been closely observing Draco and Harry's exchange jumped slightly at the sound of it. Harry merely slid his near-wolfish grin into a smirk, finally releasing his arms and dropping them to his side. "You two can hash it out in the morning. For now, I'm tired, and going to bed. I suggest all of you do the same. Boy's dormitories are on the right, girls on the left. Good night." There was a moment of silence as the Prefect's gaze bore into each student in turn, until finally she turned and stalked away. Almost reluctantly, half the group of first years broke off to follow her, leaving the boys all alone as they stood in the middle of the Common Room. A second later, Zabini, who had been wearing an amused smile for most of the night in general, gave his compatriots a small shrug and started moving towards the boys dorms. Harry fell in beside him easily with a respectful nod, and soon after the rest followed them, with Malfoy sulking at the back. As the six Slytherin boys-Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Harry himself- found their room and got dressed for bed. Harry found himself wondering if he would wake up to a hex in the face. The boy shrugged it off, however. They were barely first-years, and even Malfoy wouldn't be that stupid. Still, he thought, glancing at the blond as he slid a poofy white shirt over his head, perhaps it would be best if he left Vilya on as he slept.

XXX

It was still dark when Harry woke, sliding into consciousness with ease. He had long since learned that wearing a Ring of Power made sleep… not unnecessary, but less so. Where before he might have expected to rest for eight to ten hours, on a good day, now the Ringbearer needed half that, at most. Harry sat up on his bed, looking around the dormitory. Strange, he had been expecting to wake up to a curse, but it seemed Malfoy and his followers were even more exhausted than he the night before.

As Harry set about preparing for the day, he rubbed Vilya. For a moment the boy considered switching it for one of its siblings, but hesitated. Hogwarts was… new; new and dangerous in a way the Dursleys could never be, and already he had made enemies. It would perhaps be prudent to keep the most powerful of the Three at hand while he settled in. He kept the pouch holding Narya and Nenya close, however. If a need for them arose, he would be ready.

The common room was surprisingly occupied by the time he made his way up the stairs, despite the early hour. Several older students were scattered about, looking somewhat frazzled as they flipped through textbooks and scribbled on parchment. Procrastinators, he assumed, finishing their summer homework at the last minute. One or two even sprinted out the door from time to time, frantically checking their watches. Harry himself simply settled down to watch over the rim of one of his textbooks, allowing his attention to stray from place to place.

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed when Daphne finally came up from her own dormitory with more grace than seemed natural for a child her age, but it was enough for the first rays of dawn to filter down through the lake and add just a touch of natural light to the room. The Ring-maker found himself raising an amused eyebrow as his friend paused at the sight of him, her eyes widening slightly in shock.

"Harry." She greeted carefully after drawing near, curiosity coloring her tone. "You're up rather early." Harry's eyebrow rose even further, and he glanced around the common room. It was true. Only one other member of their year, the Zabini boy, had awoken, and he still looked utterly exhausted from the night before. His eyes returned to Daphne.

"I don't sleep much." Harry said with a shrug, closing his book. "But now that you are up, shall we go to breakfast?" The young witch, taken off guard by his sudden question, hesitated.

"I suppose." She answered after a second, and Harry smiled, rising from his seat. The two children easily set off without another word, descending into silence. As they walked, however, passing more and more students the closer they came to the Great Hall, Harry noticed something that twisted his lips into a frown.

"Is this… common?" He asked quietly, gesturing at a gathering of students when Daphne frowned at him in question. The three girls, noticing the motion, blushed, turning away even as they continued their hushed whispering. Understanding dawned on Daphne's face, and she frowned as well.

"Yes, sadly. The Wizarding World loves its gossip, and there is nothing more worthy to giggle and whisper about than the Boy-Who-Lived." Harry cocked an eyebrow at the girl, curious as to the bitterness in her voice. He nodded at the crowd, lips twitching.

"I take it you speak from experience." Daphne stiffened at the words, so minutely he would have missed it had he not been wearing Vilya, but it disappeared a second later.

"Yes." She answered, in a tone that told Harry that was all he would be getting out of her for the time being. Wisely, the boy decided not to push his friend, instead nodding slightly and turning his attention back to their path. They had just arrived at the doors to the Great Hall, and already he could hear the growing murmur of students taking their breakfast. With a glance to the side revealing nothing more than a stone-faced Daphne, he shrugged and pushed it open.

The hall appeared much like Harry remembered from the night before, a long, open space lined with the four tables. They were more sparsely populated now, as most of the school appeared to not have arrived yet, but already multitudes of food were laid out to be taken. Predictably, the moment the duo entered, all conversation stopped, and every eye turned to them. Daphne froze, tension radiating off her as the whispers began, but Harry grasped her wrist and pulled, dragging the girl towards the Slytherin table.

"This is going to get aggravating after a while." He muttered, pushing Daphne into a seat and taking the one beside her. Surprisingly, she managed to shrug off whatever it was that had gripped her, and smiled slightly.

"I suggest you get used to it. Chances are it will last your whole life." Harry, who had reached for a goblet filled with a disturbingly sweet orange drink, choked as a laugh escaped him.

"Bloody hell." The Ring-bearer growled, wiping his face as juice dribbled down it. "You're joking, right?" Harry looked at his friend, hoping against hope that she wasn't serious. When he saw the wicked grin that had spread across her face, however, it was suddenly replaced with dread.

"You destroyed a Dark Lord at the age of one, Harry, and as I said, Wizards love gossip. I wouldn't be surprised if they're still talking about you when you're as old and grey as the headmaster." Harry groaned, raising one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose even as the other picked up a piece of bacon so he could chew on it viciously.

"Well, at least they're not calling me a freak." He muttered, too low for Daphne to hear. Harry hated attention of any kind. For too long he had dealt with people staring and muttering, their judging gazes rested upon his every action. He had hoped, for a time, that the Wizarding World could be his escape from that. And yet, here he was, once again in the spotlight. It was almost like the world hated him. Daphne opened her mouth as if to say something, but was cut off when another voice spoke.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Greengrass. Your schedules." Caught off-guard, Harry glanced up blinking. Looming above the two studentswas a man he vaguely remembered from the night before, with slicked black hair and eyes like pits of darkness. Harry thought, for a moment, that he looked somewhat like a bat. When the man's eyes turned to him, however, the thought was brushed away to be replaced by confusion. There was such hatred in that gaze, and a terrible pain. Vilya squeezed on Harry's fingers, burning with warning.

"Er, thank you, Professor…" Harry spoke carefully, taking the proffered sheets of paper with tentative care. Even as he said the words, Harry fought against a flinch. The man's power, his magic that coiled like a serpent in the brush, sharpened at the sound of Harry's voice. The gaze hardened, his black eyes turning to coal, and when the man answered his voice was stilted and formal.

"My name is Professor Snape, Potter, and you would do well remember it. I am the head of Slytherin House, and any… punishments you may accrue shall be dealt with by me." With that, the professor turned and stalked away, his robes sweeping after him in a dramatic fashion, and Harry was left gaping. A few seconds passed before he felt a light touch on his arm, and turned to see Daphne staring at him with unfettered fear.

"Harry." She said, in a voice that almost sounded calm. To Harry's ears, however, it was obvious she was simply too shocked to put emotion into her words. "What was that all about?" Harry tried to answer, stopped, and glanced back the way the Head of House had disappeared. Then he shook his head.

"I have no bloody idea."

XXX

Harry had expected many things when he came to Hogwarts, from artifacts of ancient wonder, to mythical tales of valor, and even feats of great and powerful magic. And for a time, he had been impressed. The classes were filled with magic, the halls lined with portraits and suits of armor that moved and spoke, and even the ghosts had their presence, though Harry avoided them on principle-excepting the one ghost teacher, Binns, for whose class he always took the back seat- and yet, alas, there was one thing he had forgotten in his fascination and exploration of the great castle. For Hogwarts, while being a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where young sorcerers came to learn their craft, it was still, in fact, a school. Thus it was perhaps inevitable that he be subjected to the greatest of tortures, which could bring even the most powerful of Dark Lords to their knees and make them beg for mercy: Homework.

"How? How could they possibly have assigned so much work? It's barely been three days!" Harry muttered, slumping back in his chair and kicking futilely at the table in front of him. It was Wednesday, hardly half a week after the beginning of term, and already he was stuck in a special kind of hell, surrounded by books on all sides as he hid in the library. Not that he minded reading, really, in fact it was one of the few pastimes he had beyond forging and chores, but this was just bloody ridiculous. His old school had never given him this much homework, and he hadn't even been to half his classes yet. Not to mention Daphne begging off for 'Girl Problems' which he wasn't going to touch with a ten foot pole even if it was just an excuse, which meant he was there alone, miserable, and bored out of his mind.

"You know what, sod it." He said finally, slamming shut one tome that looked thicker than his head and rising. He was hardly halfway done, but when one could stare at the same page for ten minutes and still have no idea what they were reading, it was time for a break. Piling the books at least somewhat neatly upon the table, he left, wandering down the aisles aimlessly as he let his mind shut down for the most part. His eyes trailed the stacks, not looking for anything particular, but his mind was off on its own, dancing through thoughts of swords and magic. It was strange, really. Harry had always dreamed of the rings, those shining emblems of light and power that would always be the finest of his craft, but they weren't his only imaginations. Spells, scraps of song and materials that could be used to forge weapons and tools of great power danced through his mind, never lasting long but always present. He had never made any, too distracted by the Three, but recently he _had_ been getting an itch to return to his forge. Harry had no intent on crafting the Seven or Nine; Three Rings of Power were more than enough to worry about for the time being, but perhaps he could make something else?

Harry sighed, pushing the thoughts away, even as something caught his eye. He paused, backtracking a few steps, and scanned the shelf he had just passed. The wizard was about to dismiss it as nothing, when finally he found what he was looking for. _A Treaty On the Art of Artificing: Treasures Lost to Time_ was a small book, thin and dusty as if someone hadn't touched it in years, but still Harry found himself reaching to pick it up. Artificing, was that what it was called? Harry wasn't sure, but it couldn't hurt to find out. Carefully he plucked the tome from its placement and turned it over, examining the cover. It was somewhat shabby, pale beige with a charcoal drawing of the iconic Sword in the Stone, but seemed decent enough. Before he could open it to read, however, a sudden voice startled him.

"I wouldn't read that one if I were you. It's nothing but a load of hogwash and tripe about how 'amazing' all the old Arcanum were, and how we'll never see their like again." Harry jumped, surprise making him lose his grip on the book, and he whirled to face the speaker. Standing there, leaning against a bookshelf with a small smirk tugging at her lips, was a second year Ravenclaw. She was pretty, he noted absently while trying to gain control of his breathing, eyeing her arched asian features and dark raven hair. Dark blue eyes glimmered with amused curiosity as they studied him in turn, and the boy found himself blushing.

"Er, hi?" He greeted carefully, after picking the book back up. He held it awkwardly, not sure what to do with it. "I take it you've read this already?" She smiled, nodding lightly.

"Read it, hated it, found half a dozen better, though none of them here." The girl waved her hands haphazardly around as if to gesture to the whole library. Harry cocked an eyebrow, finally feeling somewhat at ease as he realized she wasn't just talking to him to 'meet the famous Harry Potter'. He glanced around at the towering stacks around them that spread almost further than the eye could see.

"Really?" He asked, just a touch sardonically. He felt a smile start to form, however, when the girl's own grin widened. "Not even one?"

"Hogwarts is an old place." She said as if in answer, shrugging. "But you British lot seem to forget a great deal of your own history in favor of the status quo." Again, Harry found himself rocked back by her lack of subtlety and tact, but somehow, it seemed refreshing. Coming to a decision, he reached out his hand, smiling widely.

"Harry Potter. I don't believe we've met." The girl eyed his hand for a moment, dark amusement flitting across her features before it disappeared like smoke on the wind and she took the offered appendage, shaking it briskly.

"Cho Chang, though you can just call me Cho. And no, I'm not here to ask for an autograph, if that's what you're thinking." A bark of laughter escaped Harry at the blaise dismissal, and he arched an eyebrow, shifting slightly to lean against a nearby shelf.

"What then, may I ask, are you after?" Cho, dark eyes sparkling, shrugged.

"The history of Artificing is a passion of mine, and I thought to save a poor misguided soul before it was too late. Honestly, that book should be banned for its offense to actual literature." Harry's lips quirked even as he glanced at the shelf where said offense now resided. He wasn't one to simply take a person at their word, particularly somebody he had no knowledge of, but not only did this girl seem to know what she was talking about, she was also a Ravenclaw. They valued knowledge above all else, and though he also knew better than to stereotype someone based on something so tenuous as House tenets, there was no denying their prevalence in what little he had seen so far.

"I must admit my ignorance in the matter. Artificing is the act of creating powerful magical artifacts, is it not?" Harry's question, to his surprise, was not met with another grin or smirk, but an actual snort of laughter, Cho throwing her head back entirely as she loosed a series of laughter that sent slight tremors down her body.

"It _was,_ perhaps." The dark-haired girl finally said after managing to control herself. The edge of laughter could still be heard in her voice, but Cho's eyes were dark and serious as she eyed Harry. "It's been centuries since a mage was born with the talent to create things like that pretty little ring of yours."

In an instant, Harry froze, the cold metal of Vilya almost seeming to burn into his skin as its temperature , he met her gaze evenly, green eyes sharpening to a razor's edge. "You can see it?" He asked, in a voice like crackling ice. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the girl was surprised by his sudden about-face, and frowned worriedly at Harry.

"Am I not supposed to? Is that bad?" Cho asked, concern and genuine curiosity mixing with a hint of fear. He had not called on Vilya's power, but even so it responded to him unconsciously and he could feel the magic swell, waiting to be used. At her questioning, however, he paused for a long moment, eyeing the second-year warily. Finally, he sighed, releasing his grip on the power. If Harry judged the situation correctly, there was no need for it.

"The power to stay hidden unless its bearer chooses to reveal it is one of Vilya's powers, yes. But…" Here Harry paused trailing off as a memory swam in his mind, of ancient eyes that judged with far too much perception. Ollivander was no destined Ringbearer, the only other explanation for noting a ring without Harry's permission, and yet the wandmaker had broken right through Nenya's glamour. Perhaps, he mused, wizards were simply innately better at surpassing magical obstacles. He would have to be more careful if that was the case. Finally the boy returned his gaze to Cho, smiling ruefully. "I am actually starting to suspect magicals simply have better perceptions than most. I apologize for my harsh reaction."

Unsurprisingly, Cho waved the apology away, once again smiling mirthfully now that Harry had calmed. "Think nothing of it, though I _am_ curious as to why you got so angry. People rarely act like that about a mere family heirloom." At that comment Harry smiled lightly, a fondness overcoming him as he once again rubbed the Ring about his finger.

"Of course not. Vilya is one of my own creations, and few things could ever match its worth." Harry didn't know why, but there was a long second of silence following his statement as Cho's face blanked. For several seconds, and then several more, he waited for the girl's reaction. Finally, she sighed, bringing a hand up to her a light chuckle.

"I must have heard wrong, because I thought I heard you say you _made_ that ring. But that's impossible." Harry cocked his head, but with her vision obscured the girl had no way of noticing. Finally, he simply shrugged, more for his own sake than hers.

"Not at all. Vilya is certainly my own work. I take great pride in that, actually." Again, silence reigned, though for a shorter period than last. When finally the hand dropped and Cho spoke once again, there was a feverish gleam to her eyes that had not been present before.

"You're serious. Dear gods you're serious." The words were breathy, those of a faithful worshipper at prayer, and suddenly Harry felt a touch of unease slipping into him. No twelve year-old should have such a sound to them, nor the near-manic expression that was slowly spreading across her face. "Oh this is brilliant. There hasn't been an honest-to-gods Artificer in centuries. And now? I'm going to have _fun_ with you."

Perhaps, Harry thought as he edged slowly backwards from the now grinning girl, he should have remained with the homework.

XXX

 **Alright, alright, alright! Another chapter of Rings of Power, finally! First off, apologies for the extraordinarily late update, but even normally I am notorious for intermittent inspiration, and these last few months have been horrifically chaotic. Recovering from an injured foot, kidney stones, reaching the end of my employment in preparation for moving,** _ **actually**_ **moving which should be happening in the next week some time, and half a dozen other tiny and distracting things have made it near impossible to focus on writing at all. Hopefully, everything will begin to slow down soon and I can go back to throwing these things at you every month or so. In the meantime, I do apologize for the sudden cliffhanger, but one, if I wrote any more it would take a lot longer to finish, and two, I rather like cliffhangers. Also, I'm curious as to what people think about Cho, and a few other hints of things I scattered about the chapter.**

 **Anyways, it's getting late and I should probably try to get some semblance of sleep. Au Revoir, and don't let the bed bugs bite! (I have no idea where that just came from, honestly)**


End file.
